URPWAK
by Ultraviolet-Ink
Summary: Request response - History appears to be repeating itself as the Klaine children decide to throw a party. David and Wes intend to make the children learn from their own mistakes - how do they do this? Through writing, of course.


**Author's Note: This is for you, Colleen Leftzero! **

**To everyone else who may have stumbled upon this, it's from the same 'verse as 'Klaine, As Told By David And Wes', but it should be perfectly understandable without reading that first.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>"Emergency numbers are by the phone. Notice that our number isn't on there – that's because I don't want you to ring us tonight. I love you kids to bits, but I haven't seen 'Rent' in years, and there shouldn't be a problem anyway, so... Don't ring." Kurt shrugged on his jacket, before glaring at his two eldest children. "If Auntie Rachel rings, tell her that no, there isn't a way to get Alex to wear pants. We're working on it. Blaine, hurry up, we need to go now to miss traffic or we'll be late!"<p>

"Dad, chill, okay?" Lizzie looked at her nails dismissively. "We're not little kids anymore. I promise not to let Mark trap his hand in any doors again."

"That was _one_ time!" Mark yelled, flinging his arms in the air in frustration. "A guy accidentally shuts his hand in the oven _once_, and everyone's all in your face with 'don't go near cupboards' this, and 'cushioning systems on doors' that... Dad, what are you _doing_?" Kurt had started sniffing the air suddenly, walking around the room before stopping close to Mark's head. He inhaled deeply, and then grimaced.

"Mark, is that _gel_ in your hair?" Mark flushed embarrassedly, and muttered under his breath. Kurt sighed. "Why're you even _wearing_ gel? Never mind, I don't want to know. Blaine, have you been encouraging our son to put gel in his hair?" Blaine ran down the stairs, adjusting his trousers as he went.

"What? No. Entirely his own doing. You ready?" Kurt tapped his foot and gestured to his clothing impatiently. "Ah. Yes. Well, we'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Be good; don't do anything to heinous. Try not to kill each other." Lizzie sighed.

"We'll be fine. Go. Now." She chivvied them both out of the house, shut the door on their surprised faces and locked it. "Okay, Mark, get the phone. We need to make a few calls. And next time, put the gel in your hair _after_ they leave." Mark rolled his eyes.

Less than half an hour later, there was a knock at the door, causing Mark bang his head from where he had been looking in his parents' liquor cabinet – it was depressingly empty, because neither of them were particularly big drinkers.

"Liz?" He shouted, pulling bottles out at random. "Are people supposed to be arriving yet?" He heard a crash, Lizzie swearing, and then yelling,

"What? No! I told everyone eight, so I'd have time to get ready! _Damn_ it! Get the door, Mark, I'm only wearing a towel!" Mark rolled his eyes, but went to answer the door. Fortunately, it wasn't any of their friends – not even the Hudson twins, who were renowned for being idiotically early to everything. Instead, Mark was greeted by Wes and David, who were both looking at him with odd expressions that were mixtures of seriousness and pride.

"We heard you two were having a party," David said bluntly, crossing his arms. Mark winced and said,

"Damn, news travels fast. Who told you?" Wes shook his head.

"Not important. However, we want you to have this. In fact, no, we demand you take this." Mark almost expected another book - 'Guide to Parties', perhaps – and he was half right. 'The Ultimate Record of Partying Without Annoying Klaine', with a subtitle of 'URPWAK', was actually more of a leaflet than a novel, but Mark was almost pleased to see that David and Wes were sticking to their writing methods.

"If my children are attending this party," David said, looking at Mark pointedly. "And believe me, they aren't planning on letting anything stop them, I expect you to follow these guidelines. Do we have a deal, Mark?" He held out a hand.

"Depends. How strict are these rules?" Wes scoffed.

"Not rules – we're not tyrants. Believe me; we've done the party scene. These are just guidelines, so you don't make the same mistakes we did." Mark raised an eyebrow, before shaking hands with David. They both nodded and then, without a word, turned and walked away. Mark shut the door.

"Who was it?" Lizzie appeared at the top of the stairs, a towel wrapped tightly around her as she rubbed her hair dry with a second towel.

"Uncle David and Uncle Wes. I swear, there's no getting used to those two."

"Why, what did they want?" Mark flapped the leaflet in the air.

"Some leaflet they want us to read so we don't make 'mistakes' at our party."

"Oh. I'll read it later. Just throw it on the table. Wait, how did they know we were having a party?" Mark shrugged as he threw the leaflet into the kitchen like a Frisbee – it landed just short of the kitchen table, instead ending up on the floor.

"They just _know_ things."

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><p><em>As seasoned veterans of teen life, we have put together this leaflet to help the children of Klaine throw a party without breaking things. It is vital that it is read <em>thoroughly.

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><p>"Lizzieeeee! My girl! Why're you so awesome? You're awesome, aren't you? So awesome. If you keep saying awesome, it doesn't sound like a word, does it? Awesome..." Rosie Puckerman stumbled through the door, slurring every other word and grinning inanely at Lizzie.<p>

"How are you drunk _already_?" Lizzie said, taking hold of the coat that Rosie had been attempting to use as a lasso and draping it across the balustrade. Rosie just winked obnoxiously and tottered into the sitting room where music was currently thumping loudly.

"Lizzie!" Mark suddenly appeared at Lizzie's elbow."Have you seen that leaflet? I can't find it, and Uncle David made me promise we'd read it!"

"What? No. Besides," she smirked widely. "It's not like he'll know we didn't read it."

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><p><em>Number One – If you decide to have punch at your party, it should not be purple. Go with a safe colour, such as green. Purple implies some sort of chemical reaction, which means that somebody's spiked it with vodka. On a related note, don't drink too much vodka. You are likely to vomit your internal organs all over Kurt's immaculately decorated <em>_bathroom__._

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><p>"Elizabeth," Anna Hudson put a hand on her hip as she dipped her glass into the punch and poured it back into the bowl. "What exactly is in your punch which has resulted in it going such a strange shade of maroon?" Lizzie just stared at the punch.<p>

"I swear it was green earlier. Huh. I guess leaving it out at room temperature has made it turn purple." She scooped some into a glass and took a sip. "It still tastes the same, so at least there's that." Looking around the room, Lizzie smiled at the sight before her. All of her closest friends were milling around, having intelligent conversation and looking like they were having a good time. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure why her dads didn't trust her and Mark at home alone. They were obviously mature enough to handle party matters responsibly.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie," Chris and Jake Thomas appeared either side of her, throwing their arms around her shoulders. "Must say, I'm impressed," Jake said, grinning at her. "When we told Dad you were having a party, he was all 'Noooo, parties are eeeevil! People film you, and then it goes viral and everybody mocks you!' But we told him that you weren't stupid, and who the hell _films _parties, and here we are. And you haven't disappointed us."

"And Mom told us to tell you that she wants Kurt to call her when he gets back. Something about 'details'? I didn't want her to be specific, because she had that weird gleam in her eye again whenever she thinks about your parents getting it on." Chris sighed. "Your parents have a strange effect on people. They're, like, the coolest parents I know, yet I feel the strange urge to follow them and document their every move. Is that normal?" Lizzie just raised an eyebrow.

"Surprisingly, you aren't the only one. Dan actually showed me notes he'd made after coming round for dinner once. Speaking of Dan, where the hell is he?"

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><p><em>Number Two – A party, especially full of teenagers, is not a place for children. Keep children under the age of twelve away at <em>all costs.

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><p>The doorbell rang – Mark scooped some more punch into his glass (it was surprisingly addictive, considering it was literally just limeade and lemon juice) and went to answer the door. Dan was standing there, grinning sheepishly – he wasn't alone.<p>

"Marky!" A small figure ran to hug Mark's legs; luckily, Dan had the sense to take the punch from his hand before it spilled everywhere and stained the carpet.

"Dan, why've you brought Nathan with you?"

"Mike and Tina offered me double pay to babysit tonight – who was I to turn down extra cash? I was thinking we could just shut him upstairs or something, you know. Is Alex around?" Mark shook his head while attempting to prise Nathan from his legs.

"Nah, we sent him to Auntie Rachel. Still waiting for the inevitable 'How do you get your brother to fall asleep?' phone call, but that won't be until at least nine, ten o' clock. We'll just put Nathan in Alex's bedroom for now." Dan nodded, unable to respond verbally because he was sipping at Mark's punch.

"Man, this stuff is good! What's in it?"

"I know, right? Limeade and lemon juice," Dan looked at him sceptically. "But we've left it at room temperature for ages, that's why it's changed colour. At least, that's what Lizzie said. Your Dad came round earlier, by the way." The two of them started up the stairs, Nathan still clinging onto one of Mark's legs.

"Yeah, I know. Something about 'preparing for the inevitable'. I have no idea what he's on about half the time, it's like he's talking to people who are already aware of what he's talking about. If that makes sense." Mark shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'm used to Uncle Wes and Uncle David having that confusing effect on people. Now, Nathan, you need to stay here, okay? There are lots of toys for you to play with, and I'll bring you some food later, okay?" Nathan just squealed happily at the sight of all the toy cars, toddled into the middle of the room and sat down.

"Um, Mark?" Maria Lopez, one of Lizzie's friends, appeared at the door, smiling vacantly. "I just thought you should know, Catherine keeps shrieking at Jake every time he goes near Anna. And your punch is _really good_, by the way. I've had about five glasses, and it just keeps getting better! Although Rosie stole my last glass..."

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><p><em>Number Three – Don't let any Fabray relatives get drunk. They have awful mood swings. They're also liable to throw <em>_food__._

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><p>"I don't understand why you'd choose <em>him<em>! I mean, I'm pretty, right? I'm the prettiest girl I've ever met, and you just keep going back to that loser! I-"

"Catherine?" Lizzie said anxiously, watching the reeling girl in front of her warily. Catherine had been throwing chicken liver pâté at the kitchen wall; when she span on her heel and glared at Lizzie, one eye twitching, she was still clutching the pâté in her fist.

"What? I'm trying to talk to Anna!"

"Catherine, honey, there's no one there. Anna's in the sitting room with Jake." Catherine whimpered and collapsed on the floor, bringing her knees up to her chin.

"Why does nobody love me? I just want to feel loved by someone, and everyone I love just abandons me, and I'm so confused and lonely..." Lizzie blinked, not entirely sure how she should respond to such an outburst. Granted, she could probably sing a song from a Disney film, or a song laden with sexual innuendo, that was relatable to this situation, but that probably wasn't entirely appropriate.

"I hate you all!" Catherine suddenly shrieked, standing up again quickly and pointing at random people. "You all suck, and I hope you all fall in some _bushes_!"

"Lizzie," Dan muttered in her ear. "I think you've got a problem. Rosie spiked the punch; we're the only two who aren't drunk."

"You've _got_ to be kidding me. Where's Mark?"

"Last I saw, he was trying to climb into the laundry basket. And you might want to check up on Thomas and Jake."

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><p><em>Number Four – Confiscate and remove any cameras from the premises. Trust <em>_us__._

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><p>"Ah, here's our favourite Hummel-Anderson! Lizzie, say hi to the viewers back home!" Lizzie waved awkwardly at the camera that Thomas was brandishing. "That's Lizzie, and this is her house. Isn't she cool? We think so."<p>

"Boys, how much punch have you drunk? And why are you filming? You said earlier that you didn't know who would bother to film parties, and now you're doing precisely that." Lizzie was well aware how much she sounded like her Dad Kurt, but at the moment, she couldn't bring herself to care.

"We haven't had much at all, really. And we're filming because we're all doing cool things, and we don't want to forget them. Ever." Jake said, while Thomas nodded wisely. Lizzie didn't really have the heart to tell them that the lens cap was still on.

"Rosie obviously put a hell of a lot of vodka in the punch then. I pity everyone here, they're going to have _awful_ hangovers tomorrow." Dan didn't look like he was pitying people – on the contrary, he was eyeing the punch, as if contemplating getting drunk himself. Before Lizzie could stop him he was practically running to the punch bowl and downing it like a parched man in the desert.

"This is a _disaster_. Guys, stop waving the camera in my face!"

"Lizzie, chill," Adam Hudson swayed towards her, grinning widely. "Just take a drink, it'll help you have _fun_."

"What? No, Adam, I need to stay sober to make sure you all don't trash my house. Oh God, my Dads are going to _kill_ me..."

"Hey, everybody, Lizzie isn't drinking! Somebody get her shots!" Lizzie was suddenly presented with eight shots, and everybody was chanting 'Down it!' at her – all in all, it was a rather surreal experience, and who was she to avoid having fun? She was a Hummel-Anderson, and fun was what she did best. So she downed the first shot.

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><p><em>Number Five – Don't get drunk – you're going to need to be sober in order to clean the house after your party.<em>

_If you've followed these guidelines, you'll be able to enjoy your party, and not get grounded forever at the end of it. Enjoy!_

_David and __Wes_

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><p>"I knew this was a bad idea," David said.<p>

"What, crouching in the bushes? Tell me about it, my joints aren't the same as they used to be. I'm too old to be spying through windows." Wes stretched a leg out behind him as David shook his head.

"No, I mean letting them have free reign of this party. There's already vomit on the carpet, and as Kurt has told me countless times, their parchment coloured carpet cannot be stained, because it'll never truly be the same color again."

"It could be worse. At least they aren't going to – wait, isn't that _Nathan_?" David squinted through the window and, sure enough, Nathan Chang was walking around the room, staring up in awe at the giggling teenagers.

"We need to get him out of there. Now." David knocked on the window, and Wes hissed,

"Dude, what are you _doing_? They'll see us, and I don't know about your kids, but Dan will _kill_ me if he sees me out here."

"Please," David scoffed. "They're too drunk to see anything that isn't five inches from their own faces." Lizzie twirled past the window in some form of waltz with Adam. "I rest my case." He knocked again. As he did so, the window tilted open, and David found himself thanking everybody he had ever met that Blaine insisted on always leaving the windows open a crack. He pushed on it, and then said,

"Nathan. Nathan!" Nathan turned around, before seeing David and Wes and crowing in delight as he made his way over. David leant threw the window and plucked Nathan from the carnage of the Hummel-Anderson sitting room, before settling him on the floor.

"I'm guessing they didn't read URPWAK," Wes said flatly, shifting again to alleviate the cramp he had in both legs.

"You think? What do you think we should do?"

"Well, ringing us would have been a good idea," a voice said from behind them. David winced and turned to Wes.

"I'm scared to turn around."

"Me too."

"You should be scared. Would either of you care to tell me why you're watching our children wreak havoc in our house?" They turned round slowly and looked up. Blaine was scowling down at both of them, and Kurt had an expression similar to what David imagined an axe murderer would have.

"We were going to ring you, honest!"

"No you weren't. And is there any reason you brought Nathan along for your little spying trip?" Kurt picked Nathan up from the floor and held him protectively, as if trying to shield him from the bad influence that was David and Wes.

"We didn't actually do that – he was at the party, and we _saved_ him." Kurt raised an eyebrow, and looked set to start screaming at them, but Blaine interrupted him, looking in at the party contemplatively.

"You know, Kurt, after that horrendous party at Rachel's, I never really drank again."

"What's your point, Blaine?" Blaine grinned wickedly, and David found himself feeling nostalgic for his days at Dalton, back before Blaine had met Kurt and was just a sweet, innocent little boy. Then he remembered what Blaine's pre-Kurt music playlists had been like, and the nostalgia quickly vanished.

"I have a plan. And don't worry, it won't involve your scarves."

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><p>Lizzie opened her eyes slowly, and was shocked at how bright everything seemed – it was like her world was bathed in a white light. She contemplated sitting up, but the orchestra playing at full volume in her head deemed that to be a bad idea.<p>

"Liz? Why's the punch... What colour is that? Liz? Are you awake? Lizzzz?" Lizzie grunted irritably, shaded her eyes with a hand and squinted narrowly. Hovering over her, swimming in her vision, was Mark's face, and it was an odd, pale colour.

"I can't move, Mark. You're going to have to bring the punch here." His face disappeared, and was replaced a few minutes later by a glass.

"That's clear. Taste it, Mark, it might just be water. We might've replaced it with water last night." Mark took a sip, and his face looked like somebody had added a green tint to it on a camera.

"Bathroom." His face disappeared again, and Lizzie could hear the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs.

After an indefinite period of time – it could've been seconds, it could've been hours, Lizzie wasn't sure of anything anymore – another face appeared. It took her a while to recognise it.

"D-Dad?" Kurt grinned at her.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Although, I must admit, you look like you've been run over by a steamroller."

"W-What happened?" Another face appeared in her vision.

"We came home early last night to find you lot having a party," Blaine said, looking like he was trying to avoid laughing. Lizzie knew that she should be worried about getting grounded for the rest of her life, but her head was hurting too much for her to care. "And we decided that a more effective punishment would be for you to wake up with the hangover from hell, so we switched your punch to pure vodka."

"Isn't that bad parenting?" Lizzie muttered mutinously.

"Has it put you off drinking forever though?" She nodded slowly. "Then no, not really. Quite effective parenting, if I do say so myself. You ready to sit up?" Lizzie felt hands gently propping her up.

"Where is everyone?"

"Gone home," Kurt said, handing her a glass of water. "You and Mark were the last to wake up. We called everyone's parents to check they were okay with us drowning you in vodka, and then they came over to watch the show. We've all been watching over you lot for most of the night. I must say, if I wasn't pissed off at the projectile vomiting Rosie did all over the walls, I'd call it a spectacular night in."

"Why did you come home early?"

"Rachel rang us in a state, yelling that you weren't answering the phone, and then something about a party and Alex peeing in her hair... we hung up after that and came back home. You need to drink that, by the way," Blaine pointed at the glass that was still full in her hand. "Get some proper liquid into your system."

"Why're you both being so nice to me?" Lizzie said, taking a delicate sip from the glass.

"Because, believe it or not, there was a time when we were teenagers, and we got into exactly the same state. Trust us, we know that the hangover you've got now is punishment enough."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Not at all. And I don't care what Uncle Wes and Sam might say to you, or what supposed 'evidence' they have – it's all lies."


End file.
